[Kivana Novastia]
I sat with Ouroboros and Malachi, surrounded by a handful of generals who were really just there for appearance's sake.
Because Novastia was the central front, the meeting took place in the main castle's grand hall.
The room was adorned with intricate decorations and statues, silver chandeliers suspended from the ceiling, and vast paintings depicting moons, stars, and wars long past.
Yet none of that mattered compared to the information Malachi had brought us.
He claimed that a day ago, Sansir had a prophetic dream, a vision foretelling the descent of Archangels, Devils, and True Dragons into our world.
The words hung heavy in the air, heavier than any ornament on these gilded walls.
We had already seen one True Dragon.
Ouroboros, powerful as he was, admitted that had it not been for the vast difference in their abilities, he would have lost.
He had only survived because of his unique Regalia. Greedy bastard, hoarding such divine power for himself.
Still, that power had kept us alive, and now we faced an even greater threat.
The plan was simple: Malachi and Ouroboros would teleport to the western continent when the fleets arrived there, ready to intercept whatever descended from the skies.
Meanwhile, I would remain here with Makilah, as well as the king and queen, to secure Novastia itself.
Sansir was still in critical condition, his healing painfully slow.
Death magic lingered in his veins, muting his soul's ability to restore his form.
That meant one fewer angel on our side, and one more reason to worry.
The more troubling part of the prophecy, however, was the mention of Devils. I only knew of one by name: Lucifer.
Lucifer, the first Devil, the Fallen Morning Star, and once an Archangel, he is called the Divide Between Heaven and Hell.
Though forgiven by God and restored to His light, if he were to descend now, I would not be surprised.
The chaos spreading through the realms, the manipulation of this world, and its veiling from higher sight might very well call him down to earn his true redemption.
Whether that would bring salvation or ruin, I could not say.
God's wrath is infinite, just as His mercy.
Should He command Lucifer, or Samael, to destroy the Earth, neither Heaven nor Hell could intervene.
Fortunately, Mirabel's barrier still holds.
She and I can both sense any descent from above, and so far, the skies remain silent.
Malachi warned us that the Devils would come unchained.
That meant the Central World's shackles, the ones that usually weaken external beings, would not bind them.
They would arrive at full power.
That was the true catastrophe. A battle between such beings here would mean annihilation.
If I sensed even a trace of power that vast, I would immediately shift them into the Void and fight there instead.
For now, preparations must be made.
The king and queen must be told of the final part of Sansir's vision, the "princess of empathy."
In this context, that could only mean Cassio.
Though calling that arrogant, power-hungry child empathetic felt absurd, Miraculum's influence might have altered her nature.
Still, I wanted to confirm the prophecy directly with Malachi before reporting it. Unfortunately, he had just left the capital.
Teleportation wasn't difficult for him, but he wasn't yet at his full strength.
This current body of his was still bound by time and space until he could reform it fully.
Even weakened, my dear little wretch could still fight at his previous level, though his durability and speed had suffered.
Perhaps losing this body would be a blessing in disguise, he might come back stronger. I smiled faintly at the thought.
Regardless, Nicholas needed to hear this.
If he remained unaware and the prophecy came to pass, his wrath might rival even that of God Himself.
Not to mention, my dreams have been happening again. The Dream has once more gifted me its power.
Viewing past the limits of time, I gazed upon Set Time itself, yet something strange was occurring.
Any event involving Nicholas constantly shook and rattled, as if fragile and mutable.
It seemed his aura was disrupting its locked position within reality.
And from above, from that existence beyond ours, I wondered if they knew.
I doubt the Heavens would forgive me for such thoughts, but I do not plan to ascend to the Silver City.
I plan to falter within my dreams.
As the others continued their discussion, I silently and secretly sent Mirabel a deep dive through my memories.
Excluding the obvious parts, she should now be up to date. Then she could tell Nicholas.
The princess problem would probably terrify them a little, so I decided it should be handled by us.
I included that in my message, hoping she would permit us to visit the capital afterward.
But almost instantly, I received a response, and it wasn't from Mirabel. That was when I realized the message hadn't gone through.
Information that transcends time and space disregards nearly every known concept of transfer. Yet this one had been interrupted. Broken.
Someone had severed the connection.
In an instant, I cast a bubble of mana around the room.
"Get down!" I screamed.
But it was too late. Blood splattered across my face as a body fell beside me.
And standing above the castle, its roof torn clean off, was a woman, one who looked strikingly like both Mirabel and Nicholas.
A cloud of roses surrounded her, and her blade was impossibly thin, cutting through the air as if it disregarded the very concept of speed itself.
She stood upon a pillar of roses as Malachi's form began to reform beside me, his body trembling, barely able to stand.
Her voice was calm, melodic, and utterly chilling.
"I am sorry, loyalists of the great Anstalionah. I grant thee this act of mercy, you may ask me one question before you are slaughtered."
My throat tightened, words catching on the edge of panic, but one of the surviving generals spoke first. He fell to his knees, trembling.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The woman sighed softly, almost mournfully, and gave a graceful bow.
"I am Rosaline Anstalionah, the princess of nothing."
For a heartbeat, her name felt wrong, impossible.
My mind refused to accept it, as though something ancient and buried recoiled at the sound. Rosaline?
The name alone struck a chord deep within me, a whisper that did not belong to this world.
And then, in the blink of an eye, every one of us had a blade through the heart.
I was hurled backward through the shattered castle wall, landing on the sand-strewn beach below.
It was only moments before Malachi came crashing after me, his blade drawn, his arms trembling.
She descended slowly, roses spiraling around her, her eyes wet with tears.
"Oh, how the great darkness falters and struggles before me," she whispered. "Oh, how horrible."
Her blade vanished, along with her presence, and she appeared at my right.
Before I could summon my weapon, she seized my wrist and flung me skyward.
I was caught midair, suspended by thin pillars of roses, unable to move, forced to watch as she fought Malachi.
They exchanged blows, and he lost without her even trying.
She knocked him down, raised her sword, and I reached out desperately, channeling the Dream's power.
I twisted logic itself, making her attack illogical, then reduced its impossibility, hoping to stall reality long enough for Malachi to dodge.
But even as the world rewrote itself, she was faster. Faster than anything I had ever seen.
In one clean motion, she pierced Malachi's neck.
At that same moment, Ouroboros appeared, lunging with his grand spear.
But Rosaline only raised a finger to her lips. "Bow before your future queen."
Command magic. The ancient vow of the royal line.
Any use of it by the blood of Anstalionah would force us to submit, the ultimate magic, unbreakable.
My will shattered in that instant. I couldn't think, couldn't fight, couldn't even breathe.
This woman... she truly was of royal blood.
She truly was the princess.
And she truly was about to kill us all.